ICT bl one-shots

Threads of Affection

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Ishan and Shubman had been best friends for years, their bond as seamless as the fabric of a well-worn shirt. They shared everything—from their favorite songs to their deepest secrets. But the one thing they cherished most was their habit of sharing clothes. It had started as a casual thing, but over time, it became something more intimate, a silent language of comfort and affection.

One chilly evening, as the autumn leaves whispered through the streets, Ishan stood in front of his closet, indecisive about what to wear. Shubman, lounging on the bed, noticed his friend's dilemma.

"Here," Shubman said, pulling off his own oversized sweater, the one Ishan had always admired. "Wear this. It'll keep you warm."

Ishan hesitated for a moment, then took the sweater. It was soft, carrying the faint scent of Shubman's cologne. He slipped it on, feeling an unfamiliar warmth not just from the fabric but from the gesture itself.

"Thanks," Ishan murmured, a shy smile playing on his lips.

Shubman grinned. "You look better in it than I do."

The evening passed with laughter and shared stories, but as the night deepened, so did the silence between them. It wasn't uncomfortable—it was charged, filled with unspoken words and lingering glances.

"Ishan," Shubman finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever think about us? About... what we could be?"

Ishan's heart skipped a beat. He had thought about it, many times, but he had never dared to hope Shubman felt the same.

"I do," Ishan admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "But I was afraid to say anything."

Shubman reached out, his hand brushing against Ishan's. "You don't have to be afraid. I feel the same."

In that quiet moment, amidst the borrowed clothes and the warmth they shared, they leaned into each other, their foreheads touching. It was as if the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them in their cocoon of shared affection.

From that day forward, their bond deepened. Sharing clothes became more than a habit—it was a symbol of their love. Every shirt, every sweater, every jacket they exchanged carried a piece of their hearts, woven together in a tapestry of love.

And as the seasons changed, so did their relationship, blossoming into something neither had dared to dream of but both knew was inevitable. Together, they wrote their story, one thread at a time, in the fabric of their lives.

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